


headaches and backseats

by santanico



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony plays AC/DC for the first hour and a half and agrees to drive. Bruce wakes up unsure of where they are and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before glancing over to the driver’s seat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	headaches and backseats

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: allusions to patricide, dealing w/trauma and death/abandonment/abuse. most of it is subtextual/implied but it was on my mind while writing. knowing bruce's origins is helpful but not necessary as i wrote this w/minuscule awareness myself.

“I need to go.”

“But you shouldn’t be alone.”

When Bruce pulls, it’s sharp, and he knows that Tony senses it and reacts to it and tenses. There’s a moment between them that’s almost menacing before Bruce looks away and takes a deep breath. He didn’t mean to snap his arm away from Tony like that. He didn’t.

Tony says, “I’m sorry,” and takes a deep breath. Bruce clenches his fists at his side. 

The truth is, he doesn’t want to be alone.

-

Tony plays AC/DC for the first hour and a half and agrees to drive. Bruce wakes up unsure of where they are and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before glancing over to the driver’s seat.

It’s Tony. He blinks, and Ton glances over at him and smiles. The sunset is bleeding out behind him and he’s wearing thick sunglasses that Bruce can’t see through. But it always seems that way with Tony Stark, who licks his lips and looks at the road.

“We can stop for dinner, soon.”

That’s how it begins. How it ends is another story.

-

Tony has money, and Bruce knows this. They don’t talk about it because talking about it is toxic and leads down all the wrong roads for Bruce, but.

Tony has money, and it’s as simple as that.

He’s the one who swipes the credit card at the gas pump. He’s the one who pays for the first, second, third motel rooms they spend the night in.

Bruce watches Tony. Tony sits at the desk with his laptop open, scrolling through e-mails, and Bruce watches from the twin bed on the other side of the room.

The words spill out before he has a chance to think about them. “Why are you really here?” Tony turns around in the chair, leaning over its back, and he tilts his head to the side. Frowns a little bit, blinks a couple of times. 

Then he says, “Because you shouldn’t be alone,” and turns back to his computer. A sharp, focused gaze.

Bruce sighs and spends five minutes in a too-hot shower, wondering how it came to this.

-

Bruce wakes up in a cold sweat on the sixth night of their trek across America. He pulls himself up in bed and feels his own face for a moment, thinking that he’s been disfigured. Just a dream. Just a dream. He has to remind himself it’s just a dream as he takes deep breaths.

Tony is fast asleep in bed next to him. The first night that they couldn’t manage to get a room with two beds. It was a compromise, maybe one that made Bruce angry because he didn’t have the energy to deal with the intimacy of being back to back with someone who you hated and loved at the same time.

He looks at Tony in the dark. He sighs. 

There isn’t anything that can take back what’s happened to him.

Tony rolls over in his sleep. Bruce takes deep breaths, stabilizes, and lies back down. As he pulls the sheets over his cold body, he tries not to pay too much attention to the heat beside him.

If Tony doesn’t wake up, then Bruce can ease himself to sleep again. The nightmares may be more like night terrors at this point, but he isn’t alone.

For the first time, he’s grateful for that.

-

Tony orders a large fry despite Bruce saying he doesn’t want any. They sit in a booth, somewhere in Georgia at this point because they aren’t really _going_ anywhere, and eat. Bruce takes a handful of fries despite himself, and Tony is quiet.

The thing about Tony is he’s never quiet. Not until Bruce’s father – dies. Not until Bruce’s life becomes a disaster. It’s after that that Tony starts to radiate something much closer to warmth and deep comfort.

Bruce is uncertain how he feels about that. It isn’t pity. He knows Tony better than that.

Tony who gladly drops everything in his life to make sure Bruce isn’t alone when he drops out of college and decides to drive for fucking miles.

“Do you want a sip of Coke?”

Bruce looks up at him and swallows, clears his throat, takes another fry. “Sure.”

Tony pushes the cup to Bruce’s side of the booth. Bruce takes a sip. It’s too sweet.

His question still left unanswered; why is Tony sitting across from him?

He doesn’t ask again.

When they step outside again, Tony heaves a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, hesitating as he reaches for the front car door. Tony is leaning against the car, not facing Bruce, and he shrugs. “Tony.”

The spring air is stale and too hot and Bruce’s chest throbs. Tony says, “You deserved better.”

Bruce says, “Get in the car,” and slams the door when he sits down.

-

“Let’s go sight seeing.”

“What?”

Tony is rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Bruce tries not to think about it.

That’s half of their relationship, at this point.

“Are you saying,” Tony starts, “that we’ve been staying in shitty motels for a week and that’s all you want to do? I figured you wanted to eventually like, focus a little bit. On something. Even if it’s just the biggest ball of rubber bands.”

“Is that a…Never mind.” Bruce steps around Tony, who’s still not wearing a belt, who’s jeans are still unbuttoned. He looks in the mirror, licks his own lips and then brushes his teeth because it feels like the right thing to do.

“Hey,” Tony says, and his voice seems more distant now. “I know you’re tired, but.”

“But what?”

“Let’s watch a movie.”

“How do you know I’m tired?” he deflects. Tony chuckles.

“You literally wake up every night and I hear you go to the bathroom to stick your head under the faucet. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” Bruce looks at himself. Dark circles under his eyes. Typical. 

Tony had been at the funeral.

Tony was always everywhere Bruce needed him to be.

It’s not even been a month.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Tony’s voice. It always seems to break him out of those bad moments.

“I don’t care,” Bruce says – he doesn’t.

Tony steps around the corner and leans against the doorway. Bruce watches him through the reflection in the mirror.

“We’ll get there. Eventually,” Tony says. Bruce tries not to think about what that means.

He doesn’t succeed. They watch a shitty comedy and Tony laughs and reaches out and brushes Bruce’s shoulder and when they kiss – when they finally kiss – it’s during the ending credits.

Bruce is relieved when Tony falls asleep and neither of them is bruised.

-

Maybe Bruce doesn’t know what to do about these hands on him. Maybe he stutters and then scatters and finds himself off the grid, eyes rolling to the back of his head before a voice whispers, “Come back to me,” and he realizes he’s flat on his back on the motel floor, drenched in sweat.

It’s Tony who always catches him when he falls. Or, at the very least, it’s Tony who’s there to pick up all the goddamn shattered pieces.

Bruce tugs at Tony’s sleeve and pulls himself up. “What happened?” he asks, doesn’t want to know the answer.

Tony doesn’t respond at first, scans Bruce instead, touching him and checking his pulse and murmuring under his breath.

“Tony.”

“Bruce,” Tony snaps back, cups Bruce’s chin and forces him to look up. Their eyes lock and Bruce forgets how to breathe. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Bruce tugs his chin out of Tony’s grip and scrambles to his feet. He doesn’t look back at Tony, who stays kneeling on the carpet with his shoulders slumped forward.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Tony says, “Okay.” 

Neither of them sleeps well that night.

-

Tony stares at the smoke from the cigarette and Bruce eventually takes it out from between Tony’s fingers and stubs it out against the brick wall.

“Hey,” Tony weakly protests. Bruce shrugs and looks over towards the horizon.

Two weeks. Warm weather, cool weather, blazing hot weather from hell.

They kissed one night out of the fourteen, and somehow, Bruce can’t bring himself to consider it again. 

He’s afraid.

One way or the other –

“We’re going to the beach.” Bruce follows Tony down the street and to the boardwalk. The California breeze sends goosebumps up his arms and he watches, as they step into the cool sand, as Tony tugs off his shoes and rolls up his jeans to his calves.

Tony wades out into the water and Bruce laughs as he complains, loudly, about how cold the sea is.

“It’s not summer yet,” Bruce points out, crossing his arms over his chest as he glances down the rest of the near empty beach. They’re in a nicer hotel tonight than they have been for the last couple of weeks, and somehow Tony hasn’t given up yet. Maybe that’s what Bruce is waiting for. Realizing that is like a sharp pang in his chest.

Tony crouches in the water and puts his hands in the ocean. Bruce waits for Tony to say something, but he doesn’t. Bruce sighs, kicks off his own shoes and leaves them on the shore as he heads out into the shallow ocean.

“Shells,” Bruce says, looking over Tony’s shoulder. Tony glances over at him and smiles, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Bruce says, “ _Used_ shells.”

Tony laughs. “Doesn’t this make you feel…alive?” He places the crab carefully back under the water and Bruce watches as it retracts its legs and shifts before burrowing under the soft sand. There are others around it, some smaller and some bigger, and the water is mostly clear.

“Small crustaceans? Not really,” Bruce says, standing up straight and stretching his arms over his head. After a short pause, Tony stands up as well, nudging Bruce in the side with his elbow. 

“No,” he says, “just this.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. The answer is already clear, anyway.

-

Tony only washes the saltwater off his hands and legs and lets Bruce use the shower that night. Bruce stands under the stream of slightly too hot water for too long, letting it soak into his sore back and the muscles in his ass. He hadn’t thought of it before, how vulnerable he is with Tony, but it’s starting to become clearer with each day.

He steps out of the shower and dresses and when he looks into the motel room and sees Tony sprawled out on the bed, for a moment, everything seems as easy as it can be.

Maybe Bruce’s parents are dead. Maybe he dropped all of his classes at the last possible minute to jump into his rugged car and head out on a life-altering journey. Maybe he can barely think about the matching holes in the ground where his parents are buried, together, despite – despite everything.

Bruce wants to be anywhere else, and as he closes his eyes, he reimagines a universe where he’s known Tony since he was a kid and where none of the bad stuff that happened to him ever happened. Where it was all a nightmare.

“You comin’ to bed?” Tony says, and Bruce opens his eyes. This is the real world.

He watches Tony and Tony watches him. Predator and prey, almost, though Bruce isn’t sure who is who. For the most part, Tony seems – behind the scenes. But then he licks his lips, this sort of quick but deliberate movement and Bruce straightens his shoulders, shivers at the water that drips down his neck from his still soaked hair.

The room still smells like the ocean, and Bruce breathes in deep before he steps over to bed and crawls onto the sheets. Tony keeps his eyes trained on Bruce, hands folded neatly on his stomach where he’s laid back against three stacked pillow. The TV sounds like static to Bruce as he shifts on top of Tony.

There’s a second of silence between them, then Tony opens his mouth and is kissed. Bruce does the kissing, folds his fingers on Tony’s shoulder to press him into the mattress. And Tony tastes golden.

Their knees and foreheads bump. The air changes, seems less salty sweet than a moment ago as Tony reaches and tangles his fingers into Bruce’s hair. Bruce kisses Tony until he can’t see anymore, until he closes his eyes and there just isn’t anything there.

By the time Tony pushes him away and whispers, “You’re tired,” Bruce is gasping and clenching at Tony’s shirt. Tony says, “We can talk about it tomorrow,” and strokes his hand over Bruce’s jaw, and it seems to have the sanctity of a promise – Bruce rolls over and focuses on the warmth of Tony’s skin as he draws his lips over Bruce’s cheek. It’s enough to pull him through the night, and they both fall asleep above the sheets with the television on mute.

-

Bruce is driving and Tony is quiet. They haven’t spoken about the other night yet. It always happens like that.

They’re on the freeway, edging away from the ocean. They drive for hours, stop in local parks, at McDonald’s or grocery stores where they buy real bread and eat on benches outside in the sun.

“I think we might be stuck. Or lost.”

“What?” Bruce says, sparing a glance over at Tony. Tony just shrugs, shifts in his seat and looks out the window. Bruce lets himself chuckle. “You can’t just say something like that and not follow up,” he says. “Anyway, we can’t really be lost because we’re not going anywhere. We just need to be able to…” He pauses.

“Find our way back home,” Tony finishes, then lets out a sigh. Bruce wonders what that sigh really means.

“Do you want to go home?” Bruce says, ignoring the sudden pounding in his chest.

“I want a lot of things, Bruce.” There’s a way that Tony says his name – in fact, there are multiple ways – that makes Bruce shudder a little. It’s reminiscent of a threat, though there isn’t any heat behind the words. Bruce tightens his grip on the steering wheel and swallows.

“How much longer?” Bruce asks.

“We should probably stop at sundown.”

Bruce nods. “Yeah.”

-

They stay at one place for three days about a week later. It’s a cozy hotel with cheap rates and a kind staff. The halls are dark but it suits them, Bruce thinks. He watches Tony and questions why Tony is still there, with all his money and all of his charisma, shuffling through cheap hotels and motels in order to keep Bruce company.

Bruce knows, probably. He just doesn’t want to talk about it.

If the tension between them is sexual – well, that’s another issue in of itself. Bruce doesn’t pause to think about that for too long because it washes him over with complicated feelings and complicated feelings just can’t be on the table yet.

Except, they’re there. They’re just waiting. Problem being, Bruce doesn’t really trust Tony.

Not yet.

“Why are you here?”

Tony looks up from the vending machine and his crumpled dollar bill slides back out, the machine beeping its error at him. He frowns and tries to flatten the dollar bill against the side of the machine, for what’s probably the third or fourth time if Bruce had to guess, before inserting it again. This time, the dollar goes without complaint. Tony hits the button for Dr. Pepper and the machine clunks as the bottle falls into the bottom, where Tony grabs it. He pops open the top and takes a few long gulps.

“Getting something to drink,” Tony says after he’s finished, and Bruce manages to not roll his eyes, though he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway. The hallway is empty and only lit by the yellow lights in the ceiling and give them both a sickly glow. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“How would you have me look at you?” Bruce says, and continues to stare. “I want you to answer my question. Seriously, is my preference. I think I deserve a real answer.”

Tony sighs and passes the bottle of Dr. Pepper between his hands. “I think you know the real answer.”

“Don’t,” Bruce snaps. “I swear to god if you don’t answer me tonight – now – then I’m done. I’m going home.”

“Ultimatums are so boring, though.” They stand in relative silence until Tony sighs again. “What are you so afraid of, Bruce?”

Bruce feels his fingers clench. “Answer, then you can ask your own goddamn questions.”

Tony presses his lips together and nods. “I told you before. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Because,” Tony says, “you need someone to be with you, but you also need to be able to…explore yourself.”

“Do you think that’s what this is?” Bruce says, and he isn’t sure exactly why is voice is so breathy except that he’s fucking angry and it shows. “You think this is some sort of trip where I find myself, spiritually?” He laughs, and he lets it be the most bitter laugh he can muster.

“I didn’t say that,” Tony says, voice hushed. “And I definitely didn’t mean it.”

“Then what did you mean,” Bruce snarls – then he shakes his head. “Does it matter at all? Tell me, Tony, how much of me is just a lost cause or a charity case? How much of being with me is just about gauging how long it takes me to pass out or fall asleep, or how long it’s going to take me before I get fed up with your shit and kick you out of my car.”

“Bruce,” Tony says, but Bruce shakes his head.

“Thank you,” he says, “for paying for my bills. I didn’t ask you to but I didn’t stop you, either.”

Tony’s eyes are sharp and focused.

“Get a train or a plane or whatever the hell you want to do,” Bruce says, sighing. “I’ll get home when I can.”

Tony catches his wrist before he can leave the room but it isn’t hostile and Bruce is too exhausted to yank himself away. They look at each other for a long moment and Bruce can’t help himself but to think that he doesn’t want to be alone.

And it hits him, why Tony is really there.

-

Nothing is solved without ceaseless words and tugging at loose strands of hair and belt loops. Maybe Bruce should have made this decision a long time ago – maybe it was only meant to be made on this very night, under neon lights in a hotel room on the fringes of Nevada.

This time when they kiss, there isn’t any hesitation – there isn’t any wildness either, and for once, that’s exactly what Bruce needs. He lets Tony swallow him with his tongue and his hands, lets Tony roll them over on the bed and pin Bruce’s wrists against the sheets. There’s security in being handled, something quiet that Bruce wants to taste for years to come.

And Bruce is surprised, to say the least, that the gentleness of Tony’s hands comes as a relief. After years of being bruised and battered from his own hands, Bruce can’t help but sigh when Tony’s broad hands trail up his chest.

And Tony says, “You’re going to be okay,” and Bruce believes him. Bruce believes some sort of positive outlook on his life for the first goddamn time and Tony laughs and presses his face into Bruce’s side, kissing his skin.

Maybe, somewhere in Bruce’s will, he’ll write _I want to be cremated, and then I want my ashes scattered in the Pacific Ocean_ because it seems fitting, now that he’s been there with Tony.

In between kisses and the rocking of their hips and bodies flush against each other, Tony takes long pauses to look at Bruce. Long enough that Bruce feels heat creep up his throat into his face, and he has to turn his head and press his cheek into the cool fabric of the pillowcase to get away from it. Then Tony laughs, swipes his thumb over Bruce’s bottom lips and says, “You’re not a lost cause,” before kissing him, and Bruce kisses him back because – it isn’t a fix. It isn’t a solution to his many problems, to the thirst that comes with being alone and having holes in his chest.

But Tony knows. Bruce looks at him and he can tell by Tony’s glassy eyes and fixated stare that Tony _knows_ and not only does he _know_ but he respects it. That Bruce isn’t a toy, that he’s human; he can have wounds and be mended, but he can’t be broken, and likewise, can’t be fixed.

“We’ll go home when you’re ready,” Tony whispers, sucking a bruise into Bruce’s throat. Bruce thinks the image of home is about to change drastically for him.


End file.
